


The Mistake

by impalaloompa



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Longing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Valdo is Jaskier's ex, Yerning, a fix it of sorts, ive always been bad a tagging, jaskier experiences many feelings, let me know if ive missed anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23205022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: He glared at the troubadour sitting calmly on the bed, wrapped in the blanket and watching him with curiosity in his hazel eyes.“I will never join you at court,” Jaskier growled, “My place is out there, on the road, with –““The Witcher?” Valdo sneered, “My dear Julian, even your Witcher doesn’t want you. Poor alone unwanted Julian, who came slinking back to me because I was right, wasn’t I? You really don’t have anywhere else to go.”Jaskier’s hand’s fisted at his sides.“The Witcher doesn’t care about you, but I do,” Valdo rose up to his knees.ORWhen Geralt breaks his heart on the mountain, Jaskier makes a mistake that might just change the rest of his life.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx
Comments: 22
Kudos: 627





	The Mistake

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ошибка](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383048) by [gronkowski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gronkowski/pseuds/gronkowski)



> so this originally started as a tumblr post where i mentioned how much i love the idea of Valdo marx being Jaksier's ex, and it kind of took off from there.
> 
> comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

Jaskier cracked one eye open as the bright morning sunlight spilled through the small window to his left, bathing the small bed chamber in gold. 

He grumbled, pressing his face back into the silk pillow.

His body still felt heavy with sleep and it was a huge effort to shift back into the warmth of the soft mattress.

As he tried to let sleep claim him again, he became aware of the arm slung over his waist, and the deep breathing sounding on the bed beside him.

He frowned into his pillow, but then last night’s events rushed through his sleep foggy brain and he went rigid.

“Shit.”

He turned very slowly, trying not to wake the man beside him. 

“Ah fuck,” he seethed.

Valdo Marx stirred, blinking his hazel eyes, mouth twisting in a crooked smile.

“Good morning Julian,” he hummed.

“Fuck off,” Jaskier leaned back against the pillow, a tightness crawling into his chest.

“Now, now. Is that any way to speak to me? Especially after the night we just had?”

Jaskier sat up, rubbing his face in his hands, trying to control the tremble that threatened to roll though his body.

Valdo propped himself up on one elbow, smirking at him.

“I forgot how good you are in bed,” he keened, “The way you move, the way you sound. The way you feel underneath me. How you take everything I give you, and you begging for more with that sweet little –“

“Shut up,” Jaskier snarled.

“It’s funny. I actually missed you,” the troubadour reached out and brushed the back of his hand down Jaskier’s back.

“Fuck you,” Jaskier jerked away.

“You’re very abrasive this morning. What’s the matter? You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy last night. You certainly sounded satisfied as I pulled pleasure from you again and again –“

Jaskier threw himself from the bed, bile rising in his throat as he pulled on his breeches and searched for his undershirt.

“Leaving so soon? I thought maybe we could go another round first,” Valdo gazed at him nonchalantly.

“No, last night was a mistake,” Jaskier hissed through gritted teeth. He shrugged on his shirt and pulled on his boots.

“Really? Because it seemed to me that your intentions were very clear and deliberate,” Valdo feigned hurt, but mirth blazed in his eyes.

Jaskier didn’t reply as he fastened his doublet, face burning with shame, tears pricking at his eyes.

“Oh, come on Julian. You loved me once. Don’t tell me last night meant nothing to you!”

“And what did it mean to you, huh?” Jaskier rounded on him, shaking with rising anger, “By the Gods Valdo, are you that shallow?”

Valdo Marx shrugged and Jaskier wanted to scream.

Jaskier was angrier with himself than with the troubadour. He knew what Valdo was like. He knew what he should have expected from him. Jaskier was the one who had sought him out. 

Hurting and broken and betrayed after that day on the mountain, the fucking dragon hunt, where the one person he loved more than anything else in the world had shattered him with his words, torn his heart to shreds and stomped it into the ground for good measure. 

He had stumbled down from that mountain, numb, reeling, uncertain in his destiny and what the fuck he was supposed to do now, and after weeks of hopping from tavern to tavern, he found himself in Cidaris. 

Word got to him of a feast being held in a High Lord’s court, a court where he knew a certain troubadour was positioned, and he had manged to get himself an invite. Just to see him, he told himself. 

Morbidly lonely, he couldn’t help himself. As soon as blue eyes met hazel, he melted into Valdo’s charm and clever words and even his mild interest in what Jaskier had been up to. It was enough to mute the sharp pain in his chest to a dull ache and he had thrown himself into the evening. Performing at the request of the High Lord, even duetting with the troubadour like they had done in their college days. Enjoying the food and the wine and the company, until Valdo had suggested they retire to his bed chamber, for old times’ sake.  
Jaskier wasn’t stupid. He knew what Valdo was after, and in that moment he didn’t care. He needed to be close to someone, intimate, vulnerable, wanted, and so he had followed the troubadour. 

Valdo Marx was the one person who knew him better than anyone. He had thought he shared that with the Witcher, but he had been wrong.

The troubadour knew exactly where and how to touch him. How to pull the dirties noises from him and stimulate the most pleasure. He knew how to undo Jaskier. How to manipulate him. How to force him to beg for release when it all became too much. 

Jaskier had had many sexual partners over the years, but no one knew how to take him apart quite like Valdo Marx.

He had foolishly hoped that one day he might have gotten there with Geralt, but the Witcher had made it very clear how he felt about him.

He had fallen asleep in Valdo’s arms, content and deliriously happy.

Now of course, he was fuming. Livid. 

The look on Valdo’s face, triumph that twisted into a sneer. Jaskier was struggling not to throw himself across the room and punch him.

“I’m so stupid,” Jaskier ran his hands through his hair, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, “Why did I think running to you would help?”

“Ah, so this is about the Witcher, I thought as much,” Valdo rolled onto his back, placing his hands behind his head and grinning.

“No, you don’t talk about him,” Jaskier trembled, new pain lacerating his chest.

“He’s the one you left me for. Not surprised it didn’t last. He’s a Witcher. What did you expect?”

“I left you because you broke my heart –“

“I mean, it was only a matter of time before you came stumbling back to my bed.”

“Shut up!” Jaskier screeched. He lunged at Valdo, and the man caught him arms just before they reached his neck.

They struggled together on the bed, rolling about, thrashing and fighting for control. Eventually Valdo pinned him on his back with his arms held above his head, both were panting and shaking. Tears streamed down Jaskier’s face.

“Let me go you bastard,” Jaskier cried.

Valdo gathered Jaskier to his chest, cocooning him in his arms and rocked the Bard gently. Jaskier didn’t fight him, he just let Valdo hold him as his breath shuddered and his body trembled. It was so gentle and tender that Jaskier could almost pretend that the past 23 years hadn’t happened, that they were still back in Oxenfurt, before he had struck out on his own and met Geralt. When he had still been in love with the troubadour and thought that the troubadour loved him in return. 

Jaskier was 17 when he had fallen for Valdo Marx. He had still been going by his given name then, Julian Alfred Pankratz. Still trying to get through his studies at the college. He had been fascinated by the slightly older man. How he played and what he sang about. His ambition to get a position in a court and build himself a steady career. Jaskier admired him, and it didn’t take long for Valdo to lap up the attention. 

Their relationship developed quickly and Jaskier had written many silly love songs that Valdo told him he thought were charming. When Valdo moved on from Oxenfurt, Jaskier felt hollow as if some part of him had left with the troubadour, and Valdo had promised him that he’d be waiting for him to finish his studies and join him at court. 

Jaskier never actually finished his college education. He had annoyed one too many of the professors and skipped one too many of the more boring lessons and had been ‘advised’ to leave. Without the reputation of Oxenfurt behind him, he knew he couldn’t jump straight into a Lord’s court, so he decided to try building his reputation another way, playing in taverns. Spreading his music. That’s when he met Geralt and everything changed. 

Jaskier’s fame and reputation grew quickly, so quickly in fact, that it was only a mere year after writing Toss A Coin he was invited to attend a festival being held in a large town in Cidaris. He had been excited. Anyone who was anyone in Cidaris was going to be there and this was his chance to get himself onto a court. 

But the more he talked to the Ladies and Lords, and other performers and Bards all in attendance, the more he realised that traveling and writing about the Witcher was all he wanted to do. He didn’t want to be stuck in one place. He wanted to explore the world and tell the epic tales of the White Wolf. He knew that his destiny was by the Witcher’s side. 

“Julian,” a honey smooth voice sounded behind him.

Jaskier had spun round and brightened with pure happiness. He threw himself into Valdo’s arms and pressed a desperate kiss to his lover’s lips.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathed softly, their foreheads pressed together.

Valdo hummed in his throat, tucking his arms around Jaskier’s waist and pulling him in for another wet kiss, his mouth possessing Jaskier’s, drawing delicious whimpers from the Bard. 

“I hear you’ve done rather well for yourself,” Valdo mused, the hint of jealousy tainting his words, “Already the fame of Jaskier, the humble Bard, echoes through the lands. Companion of the White Wolf.”

Jaskier beamed at him, mistaking the glint in those hazel eyes for pride.

“It all happened so quickly,” he sighed, pressing his face into the crook of Valdo’s neck.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter, so we can catch up properly,” the troubadour pulled him towards an inn and pushed him into the room he had paid for.

Jaskier had no time to find out how court life was treating Valdo. There were suddenly hands touching him everywhere and lips pressed to his neck and he melted into the attention.

“So fucking needy,” Valdo smirked when he enticed a deep moan from the Bard just by purely nibbling the sensitive skin of Jaskier’s collar bone.

Jaskier kissed him, desperate and wanting and Valdo pinned him against the wall as he fucked him. It was dirty and hot and Jaskier screamed when he came, Valdo’s hand clamping over his mouth to stifle the noise.

They collapsed on the bed together, Jaskier bundled in Valdo’s arms, trembling as he came down from his high, with slender fingers carding through his hair as the troubadour lulled him to sleep.

“You’re mine Julian, you belong to me. Never forget that.”

Those words echoed in Jaskier’s head as he pulled away from Valdo Marx, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and turning his back, perching on the edge of the bed, bent double with embarrassment.

He felt gentle hands rub up and down his spine. He keened at the contact, hating himself for how much he still craved Valdo’s touch. Even after all these years.

“I’m sorry Julian,” the troubadour sighed.

“For what?” Jaskier balked, leaning away from him and fixing him with burning blue eyes, “What are you sorry for Valdo Marx? Hm? Enlighten me.”

“I’m sorry that you are hurting. Think of me what you will, Julian, but I still don’t take pleasure in seeing you in pain.”

“Well that’s news to me,” Jaskier grumbled, rubbing his face in his hands and rising from the bed. 

“Julian –“

“Just shup up a moment, okay?” Jaskier diverted his gaze when he realised Valdo was completely nude, a deep flush washing over him when realising the man had been completely naked this entire time.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” Valdo smirked, shifting the blankets to recover his modesty. 

“Fuck you,” Jaskier snapped, though not with as much venom as before.

“Julian, the way things ended between us… I regret most deeply,” the troubadour looked at him and he could almost swear the man was being earnest. 

Jaskier looked away.

“But I still care about you and seeing you like this is causing me great upset.”

Jaskier chewed his already raw bottom lip.

“Join me at court, let me look after you,” there was a tenderness to his voice that Jaskier hadn’t heard in years and it twisted something very deep inside of him.

He had to admit that he was tempted. Security. Consistency. That’s what Valdo was offering him, and by the Gods did he want it. Just not with him. He wanted all that, and more, with Geralt.

He hadn’t meant to fall in love with the Witcher. It just sort of happened. As the years passed by and their relationship developed, he found himself needing to be closer to him, so every time they parted ways, it was like a dagger in his chest. But he sucked it up and kept on keeping on because he knew, whether it was a week, a month or even a year down the line, their paths would cross again, and that unbridled happiness would return and he would be with his Witcher once more.

He never spoke of his feelings for Geralt, but Valdo was sharp, clever. He knew, and he challenged Jaskier many times about it.

The unexpected hurt that wrung though his chest had Jaskier jumping on the defence, trying to assure Valdo that he desperately loved him. Valdo made him prove it. Jaskier bent over backwards to please him, especially in the bedchamber, and the troubadour pushed Jaskier’s loyalties to the limit, demanding that he stay in Cidaris with him, that if he truly loved him, he would leave the Witcher and join him.

Jaskier was torn. He couldn’t understand why Valdo was being so unfair. He didn’t understand that after everything he did for him, the man was still demanding something more, something he knew in his heart he couldn’t give. 

They had an argument that resulted in Jaskier storming out, angry and upset. 

About a month later, he received an invitation to attend an engagement at Queen Calanthe’s court in Cintra and had sought out the Witcher to go with him. Mostly for his own protection, the profession of a Bard comes with its own dangers, most of which Jaskier brought upon himself, but also because the loneliness was getting the better of him.  
That entire ordeal had him reeling and he was struggling to pick up the pieces of what happened, when Geralt left abruptly. The child surprise now looming over him and instead of giving Jaskier the chance to talk to him about it, he had abandoned Jaskier in Cintra to go off Gods knew where.

Devastated, Jaskier had found himself back in Cidaris. The sheer smugness Valdo exuberated when Jaskier had appeared timidly at his door sent sharp waves of hurt through him.  
Valdo had taken him in his arms, drawing him to the bed, cuddle-fucking him into trembling orgasms, wrapped up in Valdo’s warmth and comfort. 

He still loved the Witcher, but Valdo Marx was the one.

The next morning Jaskier had woken up in the bed alone. He arched in a delicious stretch, the pleasure from the night before still echoing through his body, then went in search of something to eat.

The Lord’s manor was vast but Jaskier was able to find the kitchens without many problems. He’d spent enough time in the company of Lords and Ladies to know the basic layout to their stately homes.

He was on his way back to Valdo’s quarters, munching on sweet bread when he had heard the man’s voice floating down the hall. He quickened his step, eager to see his lover, but stopped dead when he realised Valdo was talking about him.

“Yes, you’re right. That was Jaskier you saw come into my chambers last night,” Valdo’s nonchalant drawl curling in the Bard’s stomach.

“I thought he’d left you,” another man’s voice sounded.

“No, I knew he would come crawling back. He’s got no one else. Pathetic really,” the troubadour leered.

Jaskier felt his heart shatter.

“I mean, he’s a good fuck but his music? He’s a talentless wastrel who panders to the taste of the masses,” Valdo laughed, “What I do is art my dear fellow.”

Jaskier couldn’t breathe. His legs shook, his stomach knotted. He dropped his bread and ran back to the room. 

Waves of nausea rolled through him as his mind raced and his heart bled.

He snapped round when he heard the door open and he threw himself at Valdo Marx, punching and clawing at every inch he could get his hands on.

Valdo eventually managed to wriggle free and retreated into the depths of the chamber, putting the bed between him and the raging Bard.

“Now Julian – “ Valdo dampened his lips with his tongue.

“A talentless wastrel?” Jaskier spat, shaking, hands fisted at his sides.

“Ah,” Valdo’s pretence vanished, and he stood straight, shoulders square, expression dark, “You really shouldn’t listen into other people’s conversations.”

“I loved you,” Jaskier whimpered, “You were my everything.”

“And you were a convenience,” Valdo wrinkled his nose.

Jaskier sank to his knees, all the fight leaving him.

“I’m sorry dear Julian,” Valdo approached him, “I appreciated your love, but because you don’t love me and only me, I’m afraid what we have is now, ah, over.”

Jaskier felt numb, his head hanging down, arms lax at his sides.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he managed to choke.

“Maybe it’s best you do,” Valdo stopped beside him, ghosting his fingers gently over Jaskier’s shoulder.

Jaskier had never thought he’d experience pain and heartbreak like that ever again. How wrong he had been. 

He glared at the troubadour sitting calmly on the bed, wrapped in the blanket and watching him with curiosity in his hazel eyes.

“I will never join you at court,” Jaskier growled, “My place is out there, on the road, with –“

“The Witcher?” Valdo sneered, “My dear Julian, even your Witcher doesn’t want you. Poor alone unwanted Julian, who came slinking back to me because I was right, wasn’t I? You really don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Jaskier’s hand’s fisted at his sides.

“The Witcher doesn’t care about you, but I do,” Valdo rose up to his knees, the blanket slipping slightly to reveal the trail of hair just below his navel.

Jaskier let himself be distracted from his rising anger as a thought struck him.

“He does care,” he mumbled.

“What?” Valdo snapped.

“Geralt. He does care,” Jaskier lifted his eyes to meet Valdo’s gaze.

Of course Geralt cared. The djinn. He had saved Jaskier’s life. 

The events of that day were seared into his brain. 

Four years had passed since Valdo broke his heart and he had wallowed in self-pity long enough. He dedicated himself to music, travelling with the Witcher and finding a new muse in the Countess de Stael. He loved her, not in the same way he loved Geralt, or had loved Valdo, but it was enough to quell the deep ache in his heart. That was, until she left him too.

Poor alone, unwanted, unlovable Jaskier. It reopened old wounds, but even when he found Geralt by that lake, he continued to hide his pain in humour and distraction.

Releasing the djinn had been an accident but he knew exactly what his wishes would be.

Firstly, he wanted to hurt Valdo. No, not just hurt him, make him suffer. 

“May Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, be struck down with apoplexy, and die.”

Secondly, he didn’t want to be lonely anymore.

“The Countess de Stael must welcome me back with glee, open arms, and very little clothing.”

Thirdly, well, thirdly, what did it matter? He never got the chance to make his third wish. But if anyone had asked him, he would have said for riches and fame beyond measure. What he actually would have wished for was for Geralt to find peace with his destiny, but he kept that to himself.

When the djinn attacked him, Geralt had rushed him to a healer, and then to a mage. Concern for his life evident in every placed touch, in every tug at the scruff of his doublet. 

Why did it have to be Yennefer? 

Fucking Yennefer. 

Of all the mages across the continent that Geralt could have taken him to, it had to be the one Geralt would fall in love with. 

It sent a bitter ache through his heart. He’d spent years loving Geralt. Years. And the Witcher was either oblivious or ignoring him. But as soon as this mage came on the scene, he was fucking her within hours. 

That had been a punch to the gut. Looking through that window, the relief that Geralt was alive quickly replaced by cold, hard, loneliness. 

He hadn’t spoken much on their way out of town. Even when they’d set up camp, he kept mostly to himself. 

He could tell Geralt was unnerved by his uncharacteristic silence and he knew the Witcher would put it down to his near-death experience. 

When he had shivered, and not just with the cold, Geralt had offered him his blanket, concern swimming in those amber eyes and Jaskier had taken it gratefully.

Geralt cared.

The Witcher eventually broke the silence.

“Jaskier, who is Valdo Marx?”

Jaskier swallowed hard, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and beat down the bile rising in his throat.

He told Geralt everything, except of course the parts about being in love with him and that being the main reason Valdo didn’t want to be with him.

Surprisingly, he didn’t cry, just wilting miserably as he recounted his tale. 

Geralt listened with acute attention, giving an occasional ‘Hm’ when Jaskier paused for breath.

A strange sense of relief filled him once he’d finished talking, as if someone had lifted a huge weight off his chest. 

He smiled at Geralt, thanking him, not just for listening, but for saving his life.

“I’m sorry Jaskier,” Geralt had hummed, “About Valdo Marx. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier felt warm.

Geralt cared.

And for the longest time after that, Jaskier didn’t think much about the troubadour. He let himself enjoy life, following the Witcher and composing ballads. There was a new air between them, one that was more comfortable and close.

Jaskier had practically died when Geralt referred to him as a friend during a discussion about a contract with a villager.

It was progress at least.

After a few months, they had found themselves in Cidaris, hunting a Griffin. Geralt dealt with the creature quickly and Jaskier had been annoyed that there wasn’t much he could use for a song, damn the Gods.

It wasn’t until they settled into a tavern for the night that Jaskier actually realised where they were. 

“Shit,” Jaskier lowered his head, hoping that the barkeep wouldn’t recognise him.

Confusion twisted Geralt’s expression as the Bard scurried over to a table in the corner. He paid for two rooms and two frothing ales and joined Jaskier.

“What are you doing?” he growled, sliding a tankard across the table.

Jaskier caught it without hesitation and brought the tankard to his lips, drinking deeply.

“Dammit,” Jaskier snorted, “I just hope I wasn’t seen by –“

“My, my, my!” a honey smooth voice floated towards them.

“Fuck,” Jaskier groaned.

What were the chances? What were the fucking chances? Cidaris wasn’t a small place. Of all the taverns they could have stopped at, what were the chances it would be the same tavern that Valdo Marx was currently occupying. 

The Gods were out to fuck him over today. 

“Julian Alfred Pankratz,” the drawl was followed by the man, sneering, hazel eyes glinting.

“Who’s Julian?” Geralt frowned.

“That’s – it me Geralt. Just – just give us a moment, will you?” Jaskier rose stiffly and jerked his head towards the door to the tavern.

Valdo Marx chuckled and followed him, flashing a bent smile at the Witcher.

Jaskier burst out of the tavern and marched down the side street. He spun on the spot, thrusting a finger in the troubadour’s face.

“You!” he snarled, “You can fuck right off.”

“Oh come on, its been years! Surly you’ve got a hug for an old friend,” Valdo put his hands on his hips.

“An old -?” Jaskier’s mouth fell open in shock, “You are many things Valdo Marx, but my friend is definitely not one of them!”

“Still travelling with the Witcher I see. One day it will end very, very badly. For you.”

“Ha well you see, Geralt actually is my friend and –“

“Still spouting the same drivel too. Really Julian, you studied at Oxenfurt and these, ah, ballads are the best you can do?” Valdo leered at him.

“At least people know my name! Who has ever heard of Valdo Marx the court musician! At least I’ve made something of myself!” Jaskier shouted.

Valdo stiffened, face like thunder.

“You stupid, ungrateful, little brat,” Valdo rounded on him, “If it wasn’t for me, you’d – “

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d what? Huh? Go on Valdo. Tell me how terrible everything would have been if I hadn’t fallen in love with you!”

“Excuse me?” a gruff voice sounded down the ally, causing both men to turn.

Geralt strode towards them, mild expression on his face.

“Fuck off Witcher,” Valdo snapped, “This is none of your business.”

Geralt tilted his head, capturing Jaskier’s blue eyes.

“Valdo Marx?” he asked.

Jaskier nodded.

“Hm.”

Geralt punched Valdo in the face. Hard. The troubadour crumpled, hands coming up to clutch at his broken, bleeding nose.

Jaskier let out a breathless laugh.

“Let’s go Jaskier. We’ve spent enough time rolling around in the dirt for one day,” Geralt turned to leave, Jaskier scurrying after him.

Geralt cared.

That was the last time he had seen Valdo Marx.

Until now.

“He does care,” Jaskier said again, a new warmth rippling through him.

Valdo scoffed.

“You believe what you like, but I know the truth Julian. There is only one person in the continent that truly knows you and that’s me.”

Jaskier wasn’t listening. His pulse was thrumming under his skin. His mind was ablaze with thoughts and realisations.

“I’m such an idiot,” he breathed.

“Yes, thank you. Now you’re talking sense,” Valdo folded his arms across his chest.

“Thank you,” to the troubadour’s shock, Jaskier pressed a quick kiss to his cheek then quickly gathered his things.

Valdo’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, completely lost for words.

“I have to go. This was a mistake and there not much I can do about it now, but there is another mistake I can fix. I have to,” he swung his lute over his shoulder and paused to look at the stunned man.

“Goodbye Valdo Marx.”

“No, Julian, wait!”

Jaskier rushed out of the chamber and ran down the hall. He burst out of the main doors and sped down the well-manicured path.

Geralt cared about him.

It was because the Witcher cared about him that he had let himself say those awful things to him on the mountain. You only lash out at people like that if you have deep, resounding love for them. People always hurt the ones they love. It was because he loved Yennefer AND Jaskier that he had let his hurt and rage boil over until he had pushed them both away. Jaskier understood. Gods how he understood.

He should have stayed with Geralt dammit. It had been a mistake to leave him. He had to fix that mistake. 

It took him four days to find the Witcher. He had been lucky enough to stumble upon a villager who was recounting a tale of how the White Wolf had saved him from Drowners and the man had told him that had been three days ago.

Jaskier had followed the stories and whispers until he finally came to a small inn. Roach was tied up outside and Jaskier stopped. Rooted to the spot. Heart hammering against its cage.

He took a shaky breath and entered the inn.

There were one or two patrons dotted about and he quickly swept his gaze over them until it rested on the dark, brooding shape haunting the back corner.

Geralt lifted his head and froze.

“Hello Geralt,” Jaskier approached, heart in his throat.

Geralt was on his feet in an instant.

“Jaskier? You’re here? How? I – I’m so sorry –“

“Shut up Geralt,” fear and uncertainty lanced through him, but he had to ask, he had to know.

The Witcher clamped his mouth shut, amber eyes wide.

“Geralt. Do you love me?” 

The tension seemed to choke him as he tried to answer but Geralt swallowed hard and reached for him, taking his hand.

“Yes. Yes Jaskier. I’m so sorry. I –“

“Oh thank the gods,” Jaskier whined, tears forming in his eyes.

He closed the gap between them and crashed his mouth against Geralt’s.

The Witcher pressed into the kiss, his hands coming up to twist into Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier whimpered into Geralt’s mouth, his stomach fluttering as he cupped Geralt’s face gently. 

This was it. This was all he had ever longer for. To be wanted, to be loved. 

And as Geralt pulled at him desperately, it made his heart want to sing.

All the pain, all the hurt, it was worth it. For this moment right here, it was worth everything and Jaskier finally knew he was where he was meant to be.


End file.
